The Secrets of A Queen
by SherlockROCKSmySOCKS
Summary: SEQUEL TO 'THE DUTIES OF A KNIGHT'. !NEW CHAPTER ADDED! Every queen has secrets she has to keep, and desires she wishes could be fulfilled, but there are always responsibilities and expectations that get in the way. For once, Daenerys is going to throw aside her titles and embrace her dreams. Warning for sexual content, my first attempt at smut, please be gentle! R
1. The Secrets of A Queen

_The Secrets of a Queen_

When Jorah returned from the docks with the morning's news and rumours, he found his queen still fast asleep, curled into a tight ball under her silken sheets. He took a step forward and a half-step back, hesitating to disturb her rest.

"Khaleesi?" he cleared his throat loudly to attract her attention.

She responded only by shifting slightly and murmuring, and did not wake.

"Khaleesi, wake up." He raised his voice and stepped a little closer, trying not to focus too much on the shape of her body as it was outlined by the fine material in the morning sunlight. She mumbled again and rolled over, turning her peaceful face towards him. Holding his breath as he surveyed her beauty, he moved to the side of the bed and laid his hand on her shoulder, shaking her gently.

"...Daenerys..." he whispered, leaning closer only to be enveloped by her scent; it took all his resolve not to kiss her, to wake her up as she deserved to be awoken, with love and affection.

"...Mmm..." she uttered in a breathy moan, shifting again, "...my sweet bear..."

He stepped back to a more respectable distance, trying to keep the confused blush off his face at the words he dare not believe referred to him. Jorah watched as she rolled onto her back and stretched, cat-like, arching her chest upwards and pressing her hands against the headboard for stability, "Mmmmph..."

"Khaleesi..."

She collapsed back onto the bed, suddenly stiff as a board in shock, and her eyes flew open.

"Jorah." It was not a question.

"Good morning, Khaleesi."

* * *

The heat was unbearable, even in the shade of her tent, and every breath seemed to burn her throat and lungs as if she were sucking in fire instead of air as she lay on her pallet, trying to ignore the pain in her belly and the cracks in her skin.

"Khaleesi, look!"

Forcing her eyelids to open and her neck to turn towards the familiar voice, she was greeted with the decidedly welcome, if extremely confusing sight, of a very wet-looking Jorah Mormont.

"Ser Jorah...why are you so..._damp_?"

His shirt was translucent, clinging to his skin and the contours of the muscles in his arms and chest, his hair dark and pushed back from his face haphazardly, a loose strand hanging over his left eye.

He held out the object in his hands as if it were a newborn babe.

"Water. A spring," he heaved great breaths between his words, forcing his thin shirt to stretch tighter over his chest and emphasise the spread of dark hair that covered his upper chest and trailed in a straight line down the centre of his abdomen, disappearing into his breeches. "I found it earlier, there's enough water for all of us, and plenty more to fill whatever jars and skins we can find or fashion," he smiled, his eyes wide with relief and wonder, "Drink, Khaleesi."

Her knight sank to his knees beside her, and held the skin to her cracked lips, tilting it gently for her to drink.

She was sure that no wine had ever tasted so sweet. She would have happily swallowed it all and more until she was sick, but her bear was more sensible, cupping her head gently as he trickled a little at a time into her mouth.

"Tell all those who can still ride how to find this spring, tell them to take every vessel we have, and then return to me."

He bowed his head, rose and turned to leave, and she admired the flexing of the muscles in his back as he did so, the soaked shirt hiding nothing from her curious eyes. When he was gone, she picked up the miraculous water skin and promptly pressed it to her face, her neck, her chest, basking in the feeling of cold seeping into her feverish flesh. Unstopping the flask, she poured liquid into her palm and rubbed her face, repeating the process until she felt a degree cleaner and cooler, corking it again to preserve what remained.

Her tent flap opened and closed, and Jorah was with her once more, resting on one knee by her side.

"It is done; they will make as many trips as it takes to fill our casks and our bellies. We can move the khalasar on the morrow, it is not far, and no great distance out of our course when the difference is between life and death."

His shirt was already beginning to dry in the stifling heat, his hair was returning to its dirty blond waves, and she'd never seen a sight more appealing. Her thoughts shocked her, she wondered if it was the dehydration or the starvation that was twisting her mind. Since her sun-and-stars had died she had not felt anything of that sort, and if she had, she had passed it off as loneliness. But now she found herself reaching out and brushing his cheek, feeling the roughness of his beard against her fingertips. He had such a pained look in those stormy blue eyes that she felt compelled to reassure him somehow, reaching up with her other hand to tuck the loose hair back behind his ear, dropping her fingers to smooth over the scar Qotho's arakh had given him when he had defended her in the Dothraki Sea.

"Khaleesi...?" he breathed, his voice rougher than it had been after days and days without water, this time for entirely different reasons.

"Don't speak, ser..." she watched intently as his gaze dropped from her eyes to her mouth and slowly dragged back up again as spoke, "Show me."

The tent was silent and motionless for several seconds, time itself stood still as her knight processed what she had said, what she was implying, what she was _imploring_.

He moved forward slightly, until there was only a couple of inches between his face and hers, dropping onto both knees as he brought a hand up to rest lightly on her neck. His eyes searched hers once more for any doubt or artifice, then they shifted to take in her features, focusing on certain places; her left eyebrow, her right cheek, the tip of her nose, her chin, and finally, her lips.

Her brow creased in the middle slightly in confusion at his behaviour, which was immediately relaxed as he pressed his lips to the furrow, his touch feather-light. He then proceeded to kiss each point his gaze had lingering on, the contact soft and all-too-brief, her anticipation building with each movement.

He paused after kissing her chin, pulling back to look deep into her eyes again, his own half-closed with desire. She noticed the wetness of his lips, and realised with a pang of affection that he had been kissing the water droplets from her skin.

Daenerys opened her mouth slightly, intending to investigate her lips for water, but her knight interrupted her, brushing his thumb along her jaw.

"Khaleesi..."

He kissed her then, and the feather light touches and chaste pecks were gone, his mouth soft but firm as it moulded to hers, caressing the crystal droplet from her bottom lip with an insistent tug and a graze of teeth.

She moaned, her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him down on top of her, relishing the feel of his weight pressing her into the furs of her bed. His tongue smoothed over her lip asking for entry, and a growl rumbled deep in his chest as she complied, arching her back to press closer to his body as he ghosted a rough hand along her spine.

She gasped as the cold metal of his belt buckle pressed into the exposed skin of her midriff, and he broke the kiss for a moment, tracing the line of her nose with his, his eyes still closed lightly. His lips left a burning trail over her cheek and along her jaw as her fingers worked at his belt, gasping as his teeth nibbled at her earlobe.

"Daenerys..." he whispered reverently, rolling them so that she sat astride him, the caress of his warm breath over her skin sending a shiver of desire down her spine.

"...my sweet bear..." she groaned into the boiling air as her knight turned his attention to her neck, sucking gently at the sensitive point under her jaw as his right hand slid over her abdomen, his fingers beginning to trace the ridges of her ribs on their steady upward journey. His sword and belt were gone, along with the long protective skirt he wore over his breeches, and his shirt was hanging loose at the bottom where she had yanked it from his waistband to run her hands over his chest. Their movements were becoming quicker and less synchronised as arousal took over, and as a result she was having trouble remembering when this or that piece of clothing had been removed, or when his hands had first caressed her breasts, or when she'd moaned as his thumbs grazed over and circled her rapidly hardening nipples, or when she'd unlaced his breeches and felt his strong hands grip her hips.

She seemed to be drifting now, leaving her body and all those wonderful sensations, and looking down on the scene from outside, losing her senses one by one, until her vision faded just as Ser Jorah lifted her onto his lap, her back arched, her head thrown back, and her mouth open in silent ecstasy.

With a disappointed groan she woke slowly, stretching to relieve the tension of unsatisfied arousal from her muscles, curving her back in echo of her dream in the hope of falling back asleep and continuing where she'd been so rudely interrupted.

"Khaleesi..."

She jolted awake like a bucket of ice water had been thrown over her, her eyes flicking open to confirm that, yes, _he_ was there, watching her, hearing her.

"Jorah."

She said it as a statement of fact, more to warn herself than to question his presence, clamping her eyes shut for a moment to calm herself and push away the memories of her dream, which were currently insisting that she see Ser Jorah's face contorted in rapture and feel the ghosts of his hands on her body.

"Good morning, Khaleesi."

She really should forbid him from saying _that_ word in _that_ voice, she thought to herself, resisting the shiver that reverberated down her spine every time he spoke her title. Thankfully, she was saved from the awkward atmosphere by the entrance of one of the servants with her breakfast, a tray piled high with fruits, jams and small, neat slices of bread, along with cool wine, water and juices. She smiled her gratitude to the maid and noticed Jorah's small nod to her as well, hiding her smirk as she recognised his own relieved thanks for interrupting the uncomfortable situation.

Daenerys stood, yawned and stretched again, and disappeared behind her screen to change into more suitable attire for receiving her knight, advisor, friend, and subject of several unsettlingly arousing dreams, doing her best to avoid his gaze as she made her escape.

"What news?"

She was thankful for the thick screen when he began speaking, allowing her the freedom to chew her lip to bite back the gasp that would have escaped her otherwise. Shimmying into some pale silk pants that gathered at the ankle, she donned a finely tooled leather vest and returned to the bed barefoot, picking up the tray of fruit on her way.

"Do you require me to braid your hair this morning, Khaleesi?" he asked as she settled herself cross-legged, on the sheets, breakfast in front of her, already biting into a peach.

"If you would, thank you."

When she made no move to get up, he spoke again, and she was glad of her loose hair to hide the smile on her face.

"Do you wish me to do it while you eat your breakfast in bed, Khaleesi?"

She could hear the amusement in his voice and turned to look at him, glad to see the small smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth.

"If you would, ser, I would be grateful."

He chuckled and shook his head, moving to her dressing table to collect her comb and pins and such.

"Can you move closer to the edge of the bed, Khaleesi? It might seem improper for me to climb in with you. Next you'll be sharing your breakfast with me, and there will be anarchy."

Laughing with him, she shuffled to the side of the bed, sitting with her back to him while she finished her peach and considered what to eat next. He continued with the lies and exaggerations from the docks and markets as he gently combed her hair, his fingers pulling loose strands from her vest, sending bolts to her core each time he touched her skin.

They continued in a quiet and companionable manner until Jorah's stomach interrupted them, rumbling angrily. His hands froze in her hair, and she tilted her head back to look up at him.

"Have you not eaten, ser?"

"Not yet Khaleesi, I will break my fast once I have completed my duties here."

She dropped her gaze back to the opulent spread of exotic fruit lying before her and spoke again, "I'm sorry, I didn't know. And here I am, gorging myself while you haven't touched so much as a berry since dusk yesterday."

He chuckled, and her heart leapt, "Don't worry, Khaleesi, I'll not waste away if I break my fast later than usual. We came through the Red Waste together; an hour will make little difference. Eat your breakfast."

His mention of the Red Waste brought her dream back to her in vivid colour and sensation, and her mind decided to focus on the feel of his tongue as it explored her mouth and smoothed over the gentle bites he'd placed on her skin. She considered this as she chewed a grape, ripe and bursting with sweet juice, and had an idea, remembering his sarcastic words earlier.

Plucking a large grape from the bunch, she tilted her head back again and held it up to him. He frowned at the fruit offering, and so she explained,

"Eat it. I'll not waste away for lack of a few grapes."

His eyebrows rose and knitted, and that clever tongue of his poked out to wet his lips as he searched for words.

"I...I would, Khaleesi, but my hands," he tugged lightly on the braid he was forming, "Are somewhat occupied."

He didn't say it, and she didn't ask for clarification, but the suggestion hovered in the air between them for a moment before she reached up further and held it out again. This time, his mouth came to meet it, opened and took in the grape, his tongue wrapping around it and drawing it back between his teeth. He chewed slowly, his eyes lightly closed, and she wondered whether it was due to the relief of food, the quality of the fruit, or the sensuality of the act itself that caused such pleasure.

Dropping her gaze back to her breakfast, she shivered and ate another grape herself as Jorah slowly resumed his braiding and his stories. They continued like that until he had finished her hair, Daenerys rewarding each tale he told with another grape from her hand, the exchange becoming more comfortable but no less arousing. When he had finished with her hair, she was sure that either he had moved closer to the bed or she was leaning back, as she could feel the heat of his chest on the back of her head as his fingers stroked idly through her hair as their conversation drifted to Westeros as Jorah described the kingdoms he'd visited and the things he'd seen.

* * *

He had never been so glad to see a servant as he had when that maid entered Daenerys' chamber with her breakfast, saving him from having to endure the awkwardness that was tangible in the air, and briefly forcing his queen's words from his mind.

'"_...my sweet bear..."? What can that mean? Surely she isn't referring to me?'_

He was left to turn this over in his mind while she got out of bed and stretched again and, while this time she was facing away from him, he was still presented with the tempting but forbidden view of her shapely backside pushed towards him as she arched, rising up on her toes. Thankfully, she disappeared from his sight to get dressed, and he was able to distract himself from her words by recounting the many things he'd heard that morning.

Her attire, while perfectly acceptable on this continent and in this climate – and considerably less distracting than those Qartheen dresses that traditionally exposed one breast – the thin silk of her pants did nothing to hide the form of her legs as the sun filtered through them, and the leather vest she wore in the Dothraki fashion exposed her midriff, emphasising the curve of her waist and hips, and presenting her smooth, creamy skin for inspection. She swept through the room, picking up the tray containing her breakfast and seating herself back on her bed, biting deeply into a ripe peach, juice gathering at the corners of her mouth so that she had to swipe her tongue over her lips to catch it. He closed his eyes briefly to focus his mind again, lest it wander towards his late night fantasies.

"Do you require me to braid your hair this morning, Khaleesi?" he asked, remembering his other duty of each morning, besides relaying any new tales from the traders and sailors.

"If you would, thank you." she replied, yet made no attempt to get up and move to their customary position at her dressing table, continuing to eat her peach, her pink lips stretched over it as she sank her teeth into its flesh.

Unable to contain the smirk stretching across his face, he replied with rather more sarcasm than he usually allowed himself in her presence,

"Do you wish me to do it while you eat your breakfast in bed, Khaleesi?"

His smile spread as she turned to him with an eyebrow raised, the corners of her mouth turning up,

"If you would, ser, I would be grateful."

He laughed and set about his work, stepping as close as his restraint would allow, immediately engulfed in the scent of her mixing with the aroma of the fruit and jam in front of her, but she was still too far away for him to braid her hair, sat right in the centre of the huge bed.

"Can you move closer to the edge of the bed, Khaleesi? It might seem improper for me to climb in with you. Next you'll be sharing your breakfast with me, and there will be anarchy."

He'd laced the request with sarcasm to hide his secret desire to do exactly that, to hold her to his chest and bury his face in her hair. She laughed lightly and shimmied closer to him as she sucked the last of the flesh from her peach stone, and he began his task.

Watching her eat her breakfast reminded him that he had yet to eat, initially put off his food by the pools of vomit and nightsoil in the alleys around the docks, mixed with the smell of rotting fish and other waste from the taverns and the markets, he had not been able to stomach anything when he returned from his morning rounds. But now he was definitely feeling better, and his stomach decided to voice this opinion rather loudly.

Much as he appreciated his queen's concern about his well-being, when she held the grape out for him to take he wondered what she was thinking.

"Eat it. I'll not waste away for lack of a few grapes."

It seemed that his words to her earlier had been picked up on, and while propriety dictated that he politely decline, they _were_ alone, and he _was_ hungry, but for more than just one grape.

"I..." he considered his words for a moment, daring to imply something he had only dreamed about, and which he was certain she would draw the line at, "I would, Khaleesi, but my hands," he shifted his grip on the half-completed plait which provided a perfect excuse to both suggest and decline, "Are somewhat occupied."

She was silent for a moment, staring up at him from where she had tilted back her neck, the crown of her head almost resting on his chest, then she only held the grape higher, insisting that he take it in the only way he could, with his mouth alone. He bent slightly and took great care not to touch her fingers with his lips or his tongue, lodging it between his back teeth and biting down. Sweet, tart juice flowed through his mouth, but it wasn't the exquisite taste of the fruit that forced his eyes shut.

He had thought that this would be a one-off occurrence, and the rest of the morning would pass uneventfully, but it became clear that Daenerys was intent on seeing him eat, even if that meant she had to hand-feed him. So, when he finished each story from some oarsman or trader or fishwife, she fed him a grape, shuffling a little further backwards so it was easier to reach him, her back almost resting against his stomach. He found that he had finished the day's news, and her hair, long before he wanted the moment to end, so he slipped into stories about the Seven Kingdoms, and continued to play with her hair, under the pretence that he was still working on it. When his stories ran out, they remained in silence, the only sounds being their chewing as she continued to feed him grapes and berries from her platter, and he continued to stroke her silver-gold tresses.

Suddenly she rose up on her knees, and he was sure she was going to send him away, his duty done, and nothing would be said of the time they had simply _been_ together. But she turned, and could not stop his eyebrows from rising in shock as she placed a grape between her teeth and jutted her head forward, as if she was offering it to him. With her mouth.

'_She must be mad. Surely she's not suggesting that I...She can't be!'_

But then her hands were sliding up his chest, over his shoulders and clasping the back of his neck, pulling him down to her, the expression in her eyes shouting that she wanted him just as much as her fingers threading into his hair did. She pressed the grape against his lips, forcing them to part over it and meet her own on the other side, her tongue pushing the fruit into his mouth and then retreating, placing a lingering but chaste kiss on his closed lips. She never broke eye contact for a second while he chewed the grape slowly, trying to understand where all this was coming from. Not that he was complaining necessarily, and he couldn't pretend there hadn't been some heated looks and affectionate moments, but this was on a different level entirely. When he swallowed, she leaned forward and kissed his throat gently, all the way down to his collarbones and back up and along his jaw, before pulling back to look at him again.

"Khaleesi..." he groaned, his voice deeper and rougher than he had expected, resting his hands on her shoulders, not knowing whether he intended to hold her back or pull her into his embrace.

"Use my name, ser, and I'll use yours." Her tone was commanding, and he could do nothing but obey with every fibre of his body and soul.

"Daenerys..." he whispered it like it was treason, and felt like he'd been made privy to some great secret, like he'd been entrusted with a great treasure.

"Jorah," she smiled, almost sadly, and took his face between her hands, "Just for now, I am no queen and you are no knight. We are just a man and a woman," she stared at him intently, "Do you understand?"

He nodded, rubbing small circles into her shoulders, "Are you sure?"

"Yes," she was completely serious, "Don't you think we've been dancing around each other for long enough?" she rubbed her thumb across his cheekbone tenderly.

He was desperate to kiss her properly, to claim her as his own, and it took all his resolve to keep his hands resting on her shoulders and school his face into a more acceptable expression.

She smiled at his restraint and moved forward, pressing her body flush against his, "Go on, you can touch me, I won't break."

* * *

She didn't know what she had been thinking when she put that grape between her teeth and challenged her knight to take it from her. Well, that wasn't entirely true; she had been thinking about her dream again, and lamenting the fact that she'd forgotten several of the most thrilling parts, and she was so tired of watching Jorah try to hide his feelings, knowing she did the same herself. So she'd given him -_them _ – an opportunity to end the lies and frustration, and when he took it... she couldn't breathe. She knew that if this was going to work, they couldn't be the people all their titles said they were, with all the responsibilities and expectations that went along with those troublesome words. She really did want this to work, for both of them, but right now the priority was more one of sensation than emotion; they both had an itch that needed to be scratched, the tenderness could come later. So when she told him to touch her, claimed that she wouldn't break, she had been sure he would grab her, throw her down on the bed and get rid of all that pent-up energy and sexual frustration in the only way they could.

But he didn't. In fact, he didn't move for a long time, apart from to run his hands up and down her arms, then across her shoulders and down her back, then up from her knees and over her hips, coming to rest on her waist. He bent his head as if to kiss her, and she closed her eyes in anticipation of his mouth crashing down on hers, but he didn't kiss her, not yet. Instead, he buried his face in the crook of her neck and nuzzled the skin with his nose, inhaling her scent and sliding a hand into her hair, cupping the back of her skull gently. When he pulled back she almost thought he'd changed his mind, but he brought his other hand up to cradle her cheek, finally pressing his lips to hers, light and soft.

As much as she had expected – and partly wanted – him to be more forceful, more frenzied, she couldn't help but sigh into his kiss as his lips massaged hers gently, her hands grabbed fistfuls of his shirt as he flicked his tongue over her bottom lip, asking for entry, and she groaned as it slid lightly over hers – even kissing her, he was respectful and cautious. It didn't last long however, as he withdrew slowly, leaving her leaning forward as he pulled away, her hands tugging at his shirt.

"I'm not going anywhere," he breathed, his voice deep and husky as he removed both his belts and the protective skirt he wore, before unbinding his sword hand, "You might want to move that tray, unless you're planning on using the fruit for further seductive attacks."

She didn't laugh, she was too aroused to be distracted by mirth, but she smiled to let him know she appreciated the joke before she moved the tray. When she returned to the bed she lay back on the thick pillows, picking at the laces of her vest, intending to remove it.

"Leave it..." he practically growled, and it sent a jolt right to her core, which was quickly overshadowed by the effect of seeing Ser Jorah Mormont in just his boots and breeches. He wasn't heavily muscled, he certainly wasn't as bulky as Drogo had been, but there was a latent power in his frame, his muscles no less defined for his age, which was not really so great when she saw that his body was still young. There was a spread of dark hair over his upper chest, which tapered into a single strip from breastbone to groin, and his tanned skin was scattered with scars large and small, some neat and straight, others jagged and poorly healed. She watched the stretch and twitch of his muscles as he balanced on one leg at a time to pull off his boots, then he joined her on the bed, kneeling at her feet as if waiting instruction. Impatient, she sat up and pulled him towards her by the shoulders, forcing him to settle between her thighs and rest on top of her.

He took a deep breath and looked at her again with questioning eyes, "Are you absolutely sure?"

"You've got this far. Wouldn't you be disappointed if this was all you got?" she quirked an eyebrow and gave him a slow once-over with her eyes, "I certainly would be."

He leaned forward and kissed her hard, as if he were committing it to memory in case this was the last time he ever got to touch her this way. She almost laughed – _'if this is enough to commit to memory, his brain is going to explode later on, if I get my way!'_ – but then he pulled her lower lip into his mouth and bit it gently, and she forgot all about laughing. His right hand smoothed over her abdomen and moved up over her ribs, caressing each new inch of skin until his fingertips grazed the underside of her breast, at which point his mouth moved to her neck, sucking at the pulse point under her jaw, smoothing his tongue over the red mark he left. The rough calluses on his hands only increased her arousal as his fingers circled and brushed over one nipple and then the other until they formed hard, sensitive peaks. He removed his hand, and she didn't bother to contain the whine of disappointment, but his lips smoothed over hers again while his fingers removed the laces of her vest, pulling it from her gently, exposing more skin to the careful ministrations of his mouth.

Her back arched as his lips enclosed a nipple, his tongue swirling around the sensitive nub before flicking it, eliciting a moan that had her clutching the bed sheets to stop her hands from seizing him. He repeated the process for the other breast, then began kissing his way slowly, ever so languorously, from her chest to her belly button and to the last inch of skin above her waistband, where he untied the drawstring of her pants with his teeth. The sight of that forced her to throw her head back and bite her lip, knowing if she continued to watch she wouldn't be able to control herself. His hands then came to rest on her shoulders, from whence they glided over and around her breasts, over the ridges of her ribcage, around her waist and hips, and smoothed over her buttocks, gently sliding the trousers from her legs and dropping them on the floor. He ran his hands lightly over her thighs, brushing the sensitive skin on the inside of her legs, sweeping ever closer to her core. Just before he reached the patch of silver curls he removed his hand, crawling back up the bed to look at her.

"Daenerys...look at me."

She forced her eyes to open, her body feeling like it might melt like wax under his touch.

"I love you, with all my heart," he smiled, resting his forehead against hers, "And I still can't believe you're real," he chuckled quietly, his warm breath ghosting over her skin, raising goose-bumps.

"Are you completely sure?" his blue eyes pleaded with her, and he rose up on his elbows to distance himself from her.

"Yes, a thousand times, yes." She reached for the straining laces on his breeches, but his hands caught hers and held them as he sat back on his heels.

"What about the servants? If they come back..." he trailed off, knowing he need not elaborate.

She smirked then, and pulled at his hands to bring him on top of her again, working her fingers into his hair.

"...What?" he whispered, a frown still fixed on his face.

"They won't be coming back. I told them not to."

"But, don't you have appointments today?" he stroked her hair reverently, as if he were sure this was the last time he would ever touch it.

"No." Her smirk spread wider.

"Then...why did you have me braid your hair?"

"Because," she paused and kissed his throat, drawing a deep, rumbling growl from her bear, "I love it when you touch my hair, "she whispered in his ear, her tongue poking out to trace its shell, "And I ordered the servants to take the day off, so that we wouldn't be disturbed."

She dropped her hands to his breeches again, and this time he did not stop her, "So, my sweet bear," his mouth dropped open in shock at her words, and she smiled seductively again, "Will you please stop talking, and make love to me?"

She watched the apple of his throat bob as he swallowed hard, her hand slipping into his breeches. When his eyes opened again, he fixed her with a piercing gaze and said, in that voice that could reduce her to a puddle of desire,

"As you command, _Khaleesi_."


	2. To Kneel Before A Queen

AN: I wasn't going to write a second chapter, but then I had a few ideas and _this_ happened. This is my first attempt at smut, so please be gentle with me!

* * *

_To Kneel Before A Queen_

"As you command, _Khaleesi_."

He rose on to his knees and got up from the bed, her fingers slipping from him as he did so.

Confused, she caught his hand, "Where are you going?"

"To remove my breeches," he paused, his eyebrows raised, "You did ask me to make love to you."

Urged on by the impatience her arousal had lent her, she spoke again, indignation seeping into her ordering tone, "I did, and I meant immediately."

"You want to do this properly, do you not?" He barely paused for a reply, continuing with a look of smug amusement on his face, "You asked me to _make love_ to you. If you'd asked me to _fuck_ you, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now."

Shocked and turned-on in equal measures by his language, Daenerys could only open and close her mouth in silence, reduced to simply watching as he pushed his breeches down to his ankles and kicked them off, standing naked before her for the first time. Perhaps it was his own impatience, or the confidence her assurances had given him, but he met her gaze evenly now despite his state of undress, and it suddenly seemed that all the self-denial and hiding of feelings and months of pretence had dissipated, and she finally looked upon the real Jorah Mormont.

Unconsciously, she slipped from the bed and came to stand before him, stopping several inches away. Her eyes roved over his body, drawn to explore the new territory below his waist that she had yet to study. Daenerys' anger spiked as she felt her cheeks redden as she surveyed his now undeniably obvious arousal, as if the insistent pressure on her thigh earlier hadn't informed her of that fact, and quickly diverted her interest elsewhere until she could regain her composure.

'_I am no maid, I should not blush at the sight of his desire,'_ she sharply reminded herself, shifting her gaze over his large feet and the curve of the muscles in long legs, before bringing her eyes up to confirm that, yes, the line of hair which extended down from his chest did in fact continue all the way to his groin, spreading into a dark thatch around his erection.

Flicking her gaze back up to his face, she realised that he had been watching her make her silent assessment of his body, and she blushed all over again, cursing her childishness.

"You look beautiful when you blush," he smiled quietly, "Come here."

She obeyed, and sighed as he wrapped his arms around her, pressing his lips to her forehead as his hands dropped to her hips. The feel of his fingers on her skin reignited her desire, and she kissed the closest part of him; his throat.

He groaned and his grip on her tightened as she continued laying a trail of hot kisses from his jaw to his collarbone, nipping and licking at each point she touched, made more and more aware of his arousal as he pulled her flush against him. Forcing his hold to loosen, she continued her descent, her lips leaving a scorching path down his torso while her hands smoothed over the muscles in his back and chest, her nails leaving light but tingling lines on his skin.

She sank to her knees before him, her fingers trailing over his buttocks to rest on the backs of his thighs, her goal directly before her. She considered for a moment where to start; she'd never actually done this before, but she'd had the basic method from Doreah so she leaned forward, sliding her right hand up the front of his thigh towards her target.

Before she could touch him with either hand or mouth, he reached down and pulled her to her feet, cupping her face between his hands.

"No."

He barely whispered the word, but it registered with all the subtlety of a shout.

Seeing the confusion in her face, he explained, his thumbs rubbing over her cheekbones,

"A queen kneels before no man," he held her gaze, pleading with her to understand, before a different light entered his eyes and his pupils dilated further, pushing the blue to the very edge of his irises as he growled, "But all men must kneel before a queen."

He did not wait for her mind to register his words and what they meant, immediately repeating the same trail of kisses from her neck to her stomach as he knelt before her, his eyes level with her triangle of silver-gold curls.

* * *

The audible whine in her voice when she had complained at the few seconds he was wasting by taking off his breeches, coupled with her complete acceptance of him earlier, made him feel comfortable challenging her a little. It was immensely satisfying to shock her with his response,

"You asked me to _make love_ to you. If you'd asked me to _fuck_ you, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now."

And it was true; if she had asked him to fuck her, he still would have been in his breeches and already buried to the hilt in her. But she hadn't asked that. She wanted him to _make love_ to her, and that was entirely different. There would be time enough for fucking later, this had to be done properly.

Still riding the confidence that had bolstered him earlier, Jorah kicked off his breeches and stood before her unembarrassed, glad to finally feel that they were equal ground. It had taken restraint not to reach out to touch her when she stood mere inches away, but he managed to hold back as she studied his body. He did not hide his smile when she blushed, her gaze obviously directed at his erection before it moved over his legs, up, and back down his chest to his groin again. She looked up at him after a moment, and blushed again when she noticed he had been observing her, so he spoke to ease her embarrassment,

"You look beautiful when you blush," she reddened further, and he couldn't hold back any longer, "Come here."

When she had begun kissing his throat, moving to run her lips and tongue over the arakh scar before she moved down his chest, he had only been thinking of the sensations she was causing, the unbelievably feel of her mouth against his skin, and he had to dig his fingers into her hips and press her against him to convince himself that this was actually happening, groaning as her mouth travelled lower and lower. He had been so caught up in tracking every movement of her lips, her tongue, her teeth, the scratch of her fingers, the warmth of her palms, that he did not notice until the last minute that she had settled herself on her knees in front of him. The tell-tale trail of her hand up his thigh and the warm puffs of breath over the head of his cock warned him of her intentions, and he quickly caught her face in his hands and pulled her up.

"No."

She only responded with a confused frown, her mouth opening to voice a question.

"A queen kneels before no man," he stared deep into her violet eyes, trying to make her understand with just a look that he did not need her to do this, did not need her to supplicate herself before him and do what she thought was expected of her, to please the man first, and think to her own enjoyment second.

'_Surely she does not think I am Khal Drogo, that I would simply bend her over and take what I wanted, then toss her aside once I had been sated? She deserves to be loved, to be worshipped, not _this_. Never like this. Not until she understands that it doesn't have to be so one-sided,'_ he thought, his mind turning towards one of his late-night fantasies that made him shiver in anticipation.

"But all men must kneel before a queen."

* * *

He sank to his knees, kissing his way down her body, between her breasts with their ripe pink nipples, and over her stomach, deviating to smooth over the red blemishes where is fingers had dug too deeply into her hips earlier, before coming to rest before the apex of her legs.

"And all men must worship a goddess, in any way they can..." he breathed, gently nudging her legs further apart to allow him access, placing feather-light kisses on the soft curls of her mound, his right hand sliding up the inside of her thigh, pausing just before he reached her core.

She whined when his hand stopped moving, and she looked down to see why he had halted, only to meet his steady, if heavy-lidded, blue eyes looking back at her.

"What do you want, Daenerys?"

'_Is he going to tease me now?! Make me beg?! I am the blood of the dragon, I-'_

She gasped, her eyelids fluttering shut as his fingertips ghosted along the length of her folds, his touch too much and not enough at the same time.

"Tell me, and you shall have it."

She could feel his warm breath on her skin, feel his hot palm pressed against her thigh, and she couldn't form a single syllable in response.

'_I-I can't say _that_! I can't ask him to-! But I want him to-!'_

Sucking in a deep breath to steady herself, which quickly turned into a moan as nuzzled his nose into her curls, humming quietly, she released the only words she could think of,

"K-Kiss me..."

He was silent and still for a moment, and she wondered if he hadn't understood her request, but then his fingers returned, gliding deeper this time, glancing over the small bundle of nerves, making her shiver violently in anticipation. He nudged her legs further apart and leaned forward, at least she assumed he had, as she felt the warm ghost of his breath over her sensitive flesh, and then his lips against her _there_, his beard causing such exquisite friction, and she forgot everything but how to breathe and how to moan, occasionally managing to utter incoherent strings of words like 'please', 'Gods', 'more', 'yes'. That last one in particular, over and over, mixed with whimpers of 'Jorah' until she came apart under the ministrations of his mouth and tongue and fingers, and he had to hold her up because her legs were too weak to bear her any longer.

* * *

"K-Kiss me..."

Jorah knew she did not mean her mouth, and smiled quietly at her innocence before he continued his movements. This was all about her and her pleasure now, and while his cock twitched and ached as she uttered breathy moans each time his fingers brushed between her folds, already slick with arousal, he held back from picking her up and taking her to the bed. Coaxing her legs a little further apart, and kissed her there, massaging his lips over her skin, smooth as silk, and burning against his mouth. He did his best to ignore the heady scent of her and the way it made him ache, poking his tongue out to trace the ridge of her pelvic bone, then bringing it back and flattening it over her sensitive nub, relishing her drawn-out moan as he pressed against it, circled it quickly then finally flicked it, feeling her shudder violently. He continued, adding a second finger as he worked her from inside and out, flicking his tongue or curling his fingers in all the right places to make her moan his name and beg for more, more, until she clenched around his fingers and screamed, her fingers knotted in his hair, her knees bending dangerously as if she were about to collapse. He caught and held her, bundling her into his arms and carrying her to the bed, his lips pressed to the top of her head.

* * *

She was still floating, drifting on her high as he carried her to the bed, lying down next to her, propped up on one elbow to look down at her. She smiled lightly at the feel of his fingers brushing through her hair, her eyes still closed as she absorbed the last vibrations of her orgasm, sucking in deep breaths to calm her racing heart.

"Kiss me..." she whispered, pleased to notice the bed shift immediately and feel the warm press of her bear's soft lips on hers. The kiss was languid, his hand still in her hair as she parted her lips for his tongue, still too wrapped up in the aftershock of her peak to fully register the taste of herself mixed with his own in his mouth. Slowly, she came out of the fog and recognised the hard press of his arousal against her hip, felt his hands massaging her breasts, and was reminded of her own desire as his mouth came to rest on one of his favourite spots, sucking at the pulse point under her jaw. Her hands smoothed over his shoulders and back, tracing the shifting bulges of his muscles as he held himself over her, their kiss becoming more demanding and heated with each moment as she arched her back and ground herself against his erection.

He groaned, grazing a couple of fingers against her folds to get her attention, meeting her gaze in silent query. She nodded almost imperceptibly and raised her head to watch him enter her, slowly, carefully, suppressing a whimper as she stretched to accommodate him, filling her to the hilt. She had dreamed of riding him the way she had Drogo, but after what Jorah had done to her earlier, she didn't have the strength in her legs to maintain any sort of gratifying pace, but then he had pushed into her, and the thought was gone. It had been a long time since she had done this, so it was a little uncomfortable to begin with, but pleasure soon overtook pain as he thrust into her slowly, grinding his hips into hers at a steady pace.

* * *

He gave her a moment to recover, taking the time to collect his thoughts and regain his composure; he had been so close himself, watching and feeling her fall apart, moaning his name over and over like a prayer; if they were going to continue he didn't want to embarrass himself. It had been some time since he'd last had a woman, and an age since he'd had one he loved as deeply and completely as Daenerys, so when he finally pushed into her it took all of his resolve and more not to come immediately, focussing on the pain her nails were inflicting on his back rather than the tight wetness he was buried in until he had regained a modicum of control. He had to grit his teeth through the first few thrusts, but fell into a slow rhythm he was confident would see them both through.

* * *

It wasn't long before the pace they were keeping wasn't enough, the tight ball that had been slowly unfurling in her core had stopped expanding, and she managed to moan something about 'faster', punctuating her demand by wrapping her legs around his waist and crossing her ankles. His hips snapped forward in response, penetrating deeper as the angle had changed, his pace increasing. She clasped her hands behind his neck to pull his face down to hers; he kissed her roughly, then dropped his mouth to her breasts to toy with her nipples, all tongue and teeth as her fingers clenched the nape of his neck, feeling the wetness of those short hairs as they were soaked with sweat.

She could feel herself getting closer, feel the warmth spreading to her arms and legs, feel the pleasure building as he got ever closer to that point inside she knew would cause her to unravel. She knew he was close too, his face pressed into the crook of her neck, his breath coming in short pants that spread damp heat across her chest, the rhythm of his hips becoming quicker and less even as he began to lose the battle for control. His hands suddenly grasped her legs and hefted them higher so that they clasped around his ribs, pulling almost all the way out before driving forward again, growling from deep in his chest as she moaned loudly, so close now it was almost painful and it still wasn't enough.

"S-So c-c-close...please, Jorah...ooohhhh!"

She felt him shift his weight onto his left arm, his head still pressing into her shoulder, and then his thumb found that sensitive bundle of nerves and rubbed it in time with his thrusts, or as best he could as she peaked and melted in a great wave of ecstasy, and he lost himself not long after, his hips snapping forward in desperate abandon, biting hard into the soft skin of her shoulder to muffle his roar.

Jorah continued to rock gently into her, riding out both their releases until they had come to their senses enough to separate, his arms shaking with the effort of not collapsing over her. She hadn't really noticed the way he'd bitten her at the time, the sensation simply added to the surplus she already had and pushed her higher, but she felt his jaw unclench from her shoulder, recognised the soft caress of his lips over the marks he had undoubtedly left. She could feel the ache of it now, and while it was something new that she was unused to, she found she actually enjoyed the idea that she now bore his mark, she was now clearly his. Maybe that was why he'd done it; she assumed it wasn't common custom in Westeros for lords to bite their ladies during sex. Shuffling to his side, she rested her head on his chest and listened to the rapid thunder of his heart, her fingers absently combing through the dark hair of his torso as his own hand came to rest on her hip.

She listened to his heartbeat slow back to normal, familiarising herself with is as she lay pressed into his warm side, aware that he was still awake as his thumb rubbed circles into her skin, still lightly marked by his fingers. She was tired, but she didn't want to go to sleep, so she closed her eyes to rest them for a moment, committing his heartbeat to memory, along with the warmth of his skin, and the gentleness of his touch.

She must have drifted off, because she was woken by the vibration of her pillow, remembering as she opened her eyes that she was still resting on Jorah's chest. She realised that he was humming a tune, a song she assumed, and shifted to glance up at him. He looked so peaceful, his eyes shut and his mouth set in a gentle smile, but he opened his eyes to look at her as soon as she moved, clear blue meeting brilliant violet.

"Is that a song from Westeros?"

"Yes, it was stuck in my head, sorry, I didn't mean to wake you." He stroked her hair, blinking slowly as he studied her face. She realised this was the way he looked when he was thinking how beautiful she was, and it made her smile.

"What's it called?"

"Would you like me to sing it to you?" he gestured for her to lie back down, rising up on one elbow as he did.

Daenerys nodded and lay back against the pillows, her eyes drifting shut as he smoothed her hair back from her face and kissed her forehead lingeringly.

He began to sing, his tone deep and rumbling as he kept his voice as low and quiet as possible,

"_Oh, sweet she was/ And pure and fair/ The maid with honey/ In her hair, her hair/ The maid with honey/ In her hair/_

"_The bear smelled the __scent/ On the summer air/ The bear, the bear/ All black and brown/ And covered with hair/ He smelled the scent/ On the summer air/ He sniffed and roared/ And smelled it there/ Honey on the summer air/_

"_Oh I'm a maid/ And I'm pure and fair/ I'll never dance/ With a hairy bear/ A bear, a bear/ I'll never dance/ With a hairy bear/_

"_The bear, the bear/ Lifted her high/ Into the air/ The bear, the bear/ _

"_I called for a knight/ But you're a bear/ A bear, a bear/ All black and brown/ And covered in hair/ _

"_She kicked and wailed/ The maid so fair/ But he licked the honey/ From her hair/ Her hair, her hair/ He licked the honey/ From her hair/ _

"_Then she sighed and squealed/ And kicked the air/ She sang: my bear so fair/ And off they went/ The bear, the bear/ And the maiden fair._"

By the time he'd finished the song she was fast asleep, as sweet smile on her face, and Jorah lay back slowly so as not to disturb her. _The bear_ closed his eyes to find his rest beside his very own _maiden fair_.

* * *

AN: Lyrics for 'The Bear and the Maiden Fair' are property of George R. R. Martin, as are all characters and settings used.


End file.
